


Mariposa

by orphan_account



Series: LJ prompt [13]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s01e06 Sex and Drugs, Gen, LJ 60 prompts in 60 days, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mariposa, one of Drexel’s girls, flees in the chaotic aftermath of Drexel’s death. This is for the LJ 60 prompts in 60 days: Butterfly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mariposa

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I was re-watching 1.06 and I wondered what happened after Aaron and Nora left. 
> 
> Trigger warning: mentions of rape and aftermath of rape.
> 
> Thank you to xyber116 for beta'ing this one-shot.
> 
> I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.

Mariposa wriggled back to conscious thought, her body aching in every way imaginable. Her dress – one of Drexel’s favorites, a sparkly sequined turquoise number – was ripped beyond repair. Her hips were speckled with red soon-to-be-bruises the size of fingertips; her neck, shoulders, and breasts were marked with larger bite-marks. And she hurt _inside_. Dr. Ian would have complained about the lack of anatomical detail, but that’s all she could say. And he was gone anyways. She’d lost her chance at being the doctor’s girl after Drexel’s death. She hadn’t gotten to his lab soon enough, and she saw him drive off with one of the more buxom girls, Lily. What sort of name was Lily anyways? It wasn’t nearly as classy as Mariposa, the French word for butterfly.

While she was trying to think of another out, one of Drexel’s goons had spotted her and grabbed her, and she lay back and thought of England – _whatever that actually meant_. It was a phrase that the older girls told the new girls, but Mariposa hadn’t really had a good opportunity to try out the phrase until tonight. Drexel was good to his girls. He made sure they had plenty of lambskin, heroin if they wanted it, and only rarely loaned them out to his goons as rewards or to guests. He even kept them around to service his goons once they were too drug-addled to be of any real use, when most would toss them out on their asses.

The first goon was soon replaced by another and then another and another. They had raided Drexel’s wine cellar, Dr. Ian’s lab, the heroin refinery, and were looking for a good time. Well they must of found one, ‘cause they were no longer bothering her. She wanted to crawl to a hidey-hole and wait for all of the goons to die or leave, but she knew they wouldn’t let a sweet peach like Drexel’s house go unclaimed. Her best chance at not experiencing the last few hours again was to get the hell out of here.

Mariposa levered herself up off of the couch she had been deposited on, grimacing through the pain, and steeled herself. She walked softly and normally to the laundry room and grabbed a pair of clean trousers, a shirt, and a pair of socks from the ‘goons’ pile and a new bra and panties from the ‘girls’ pile. She stripped off the rags she was wearing and bit back a hiss of alarm at the red flecking her inner thighs. She _really_ was hurt down there. Nothing she could do about it now. Dr. Ian’s lab was like as to be torn to bits by now. She grabbed some soft cotton strips used by the girls during their periods, and finished changing into her new clothes, thankful for once that she was tall and lanky. Now, finding boots would be a bit more tricky, and there was no way in hell there were any horses left in the stable.

Mariposa decided to hit up the kitchen, and grabbed some dry meat, cheese, bread, apples and a big-ass knife, and stuffed them in a handy sack for the road. Where that road led, she had no idea, all she knew was she wasn’t gonna go back home, and she wasn’t gonna stay here. On her way out of the kitchen, she very nearly stepped on a goon.

She gingerly squatted down and realized it was Tomas, a good sort, and he was dead. Mariposa spent a few seconds wondering who had killed Tomas and for what, before stealing his boots. They would be a bit big, but they’d be better than nothing. Now fully equipped, Mariposa left Drexel’s house. She walked down his driveway, through his open gates, and along his scorched poppy fields. She stepped carefully, each stride with her right foot sent shivers of pain radiating from her core, but she only had a few hours ‘til dawn. Then she could stop and think.

She couldn’t go to the O’Hallorans, not even for a brief stopover, Drexel and that blonde tart Charlie had destroyed _that_ option. Stopping at any of the tiny villages in the area would be as bad or worse than goin’ home, ‘cept she wouldn’t have to see the mortification in her little sister’s eyes. Wouldn’t have to try to explain why she’d done what she’d done to little Miss Perfect, wouldn’t have to hear the younger kids’ joyful cries of "Tracy’s home." 

That pretty much just left the Militia. Many of the minor posts were likely to take in stray women, and if she played her ‘wounded bird’ cards right, she might only have to do some cookin’, cleanin’, and mendin’. Once she was all healed, she could go looking for an officer in need of a girl. It wasn’t as shiny as being one of Drexel’s girls, but it was a damn sight better than working sunrise to sunset doing backbreaking labor on a farm and birth eight or nine babies – only to bury half of ‘em far too early. She’d had enough of that already. 

Mariposa kept walking east, ignoring her pain, and suppressing her memories, until the pre-dawn gloaming lightened and the sun crested the horizon. Mariposa and her too large boots clomped off the road and headed for a patch of cottonwood trees. Once she was in the center of the patch, she set down her food sack and curled up into a ball, finally letting the events of the past twelve hours hit her.

That fat man killed Drexel. She hadn’t gotten to Dr. Ian in time to flee with him as his girl, which was sad. He was a good sort, and it was a pretty secure position. Then a whole bunch of Drexel’s men had raped her, including Brian, who she’d _thought_ was a decent fellow. And now she was here, crying, aching, in the woods, wanting nothing more than to find a frigid waterfall and let the pounding water strip off her skin and their fingerprints. Or maybe a scalding hot bath. That would obliterate the feeling of those goons, would erase their marks. But instead she was here, curled up in the duff, not knowing where she was going to go, or what she’d have to do once she got there. Damn that fat man, that blonde tart, the Latino woman, and General Matheson. Damn them all and their interfering ways. 


End file.
